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ifHrfii. 1. Casitman Htmaan 



Pansy 
Buds 



By 
MRS. L. EASTMAN KINCAID 

To 
EDITH 



Copyright 1922 



Published in 
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 



$1.00 



JUN -5 1922 
C1A675833 



PRESENTATION. 

To the many friends in all the yesterdays: To all the 
friends in the unknown tomorrows: Today I GREET 
you. 

Iron is not as attractive as a diamond. The diamond in 
the rough is not attractive except it be worked to a 
finish. A gold nugget does not appeal to one as a thing 
of beauty, except for its intrinsic value. These have not 
the fragrance of the flowers. 

So with friends. Each one has a place in the heart, 
according to organic nativity. One sees them in retrospect. 
One meets them in perspective. All in God's continuity 
of the sweeping cycles. 

Within the span of life, which means so much to each, 
yet so minute as compared to the astronomical creation, 
one finds the diamond friend, the gold, the iron, the rose, 
the violet, and all hold a niche in remembrance. Even the 
mistletoe friend, who saps life's sustenance from those who 
shield and protect — has its place in the architecture of the 
years. 

In presenting this bookie, I enclose my love to you, 
folded in little prayer leaves, that will open out to greet 
you, as often as you think of me. 



MY PSALM. 

God is my Father. I shall not need. He maketli me 
to conform to His infinite laws, and leadeth me where it 
is best that I should go. Tho the way seems dark and 
wrong, He giveth me knowledge to see the wisdom of 
His ways, as the years go by. 

He filleth my soul with righteousness and faith; He 
restoreth my hope. Tho sorrow and anguish flood my 
soul, yet do I feel His presence. He covereth the black- 
ness of despair with the glint of His glory. His love quiet- 
eth the pain of sorrow. No evil shall overtake nie, for 
He is my help, my strength, my all. Without Him I 
could not be. 

LEAVING. 

Lillies in bloom, roses perfume, 
Sweetly abundant this 8th of June, 

Too soon you will be with tlie sod! 
When I come back, you'll be gone. 
When you come back. Til be gone, 

Each thru the law of God. 

Goodbye, my flowers! Good bye! 

Dear old house! Dear old place! 

So many sweet memories rest on your face. 

These, too, by the law must die. 
While the earth shall last, the land will abide. 
The sweep of time the house will hide: 

Thru decay and rust, 

It will crumble to dust. 
Good bye, old home! Good bye. 



ON MOUNT LOWE. 

My soul's individuality merges into the universal whole, 
as I stand in this sublime silence and limitless space, with 
the planet-gemmed canopy of the heavens above and the 
sound-crushed earth far below. 

Lost in the sublimity of infinitude! Worlds beyond 
worlds! Planets beyond planets! Suns uncountable! Our 
beautiful Mount Lowe, not even a fraction of a dot as 
compared. 

This great silence bathes the soul in the boundless 
space of the Most High. The wonder, the glory of the 
eternal stillness, immerses my whole being. I am no 
longer a person, but a part of this wonderful, limitless 
universality. 

ROY. 

Alwaj^s — ever — everywhere, 

Soft, blue eyes and sun-touched hair, 

Are phantom like with me wherever I go. 

Because I loved my baby so. 

Beautiful hands reach out to mine. 

Loving arms my neck entwine. 

My thoughts will listen, with no will or choice, 

To the tender cadence of a sweet lost voice. 



KEEP TENDER THE PAST. 

I. 

Keep tender the past, for its streets and its lanes, 
Are strewn with fragments of sad and glad. 
All we now have or hope for completement, 
Is tinted and blended with those we have had. 
The divine of us call.'; for these hallowed by-gones, 
Sorrow touched, glory gleamed, joys and tears; 
As lessons we've dropped, or mastered, or shirked. 
Are substructure for in-coming years. 

The travail of pain, thru the birth of our nation, 
when freedom, triumphant a world's crisis met. 
Keep tender their struggles, their hopes, their 
bequeathment. These glory touched years. 
We wish not to forget. 

II. 

Keep tender the past, the heart's clover meadow, 
Where absent ones greet us as thoughts come and go. 
As sunset leaves shade, but not a dark shadow. 
So reminescently falls a soft afterglow. 
Its storehouse, of wonderful, grey misty memories, 
Holds stepping stones, gateways, beginnings, and more. 
From the dear clinging arms of love-hearted mother 
To the very threshold of today's open door. 

The wonders of childhood, mid fogs of queries; 
and youthood all glowing, built "Castles in Spain,'' 
the fruits of the brain, born in hope and pain, to 
be tumbled to ruins, j'et builded again and again. 
Keep tender the toll bells, the joy bells for 
memory bells, their melodies dimmed but to heart 
music set. One loves as part of one's being, 
many things. 

We wish not to forget. 



III. 

Keep tender the past in the present, 

'Tis needful as sunset to morning; 

Its fire still glows; its stories retold, 

Inspires today for new dawning. 

Today leads up to the summit, 

Snow crowned and caressed by the sun. 

Today is built of those yesterdays, 

Thru which todaj^'s ideals are won. 

The war-swept world, with its carnage and 
crime, its pitiful victims, broken wrecks for life- 
time; all shades of decreptitude, limbless, blind; — 
yet, back thru the smoke-clouds we see heroes sub- 
lime. These touch the soul, with both love and 
regret. There are deified spots 
We wish not to forget. 

IV. 

Today is all the time one has. 

Whether for weal or sorrow. 

Today still clings to yesterdfiy 

While it smiles and beckons tomorrow. 

The past is full of broken things. 

As toys that would not last; 

But we loved toys then, and we love IT now, 

This kaleidoscopic old Past. 

Today we are making yesterdays, with pictures 
for memory's hall, to greet us again in other to- 
days, where, with all, of joy or regret, there is 
always so much. 

We wish not to forget. 



A CHRISTMAS WISH IN THE ROCKIES. 

I pine for a glimpse of the old sea shore, 
To see the waves and hear the roar, 
To, stretch and rest in the sun once more 
On the sanded floor of the beach. 

I pine for the pulsing life of the throng. 
Who joy with the waves and their rhythmic song, 
Where rest grows health as the waves roll along 
On the sanded floor of the beach. 

I long for poinsettias the Christmas bloom; 
Sweet peas and roses with their perfume. 
A stroll on the Pike with the ocean boom, 
Near the sanded floor of the beach. 

I wish! Oh, I wish! 
A warm soft wind would blow, 
Across this snow, and make it go, 

Not very slow, into those warm, warm, regions below; 
Then I would float on the fl.owing floe, 
And fall like a frozen flake of snow. 
Just where I most would want to go. 
On the sanded floor of the beach. 

TWO DEAR SPOTS IN KANSAS 

The hallowed, sacred grassy mounds. 

So dear for what they are: 
They hold the precious dust of those 

Who "crossed the Harbor Bar." 

The old farm house at Sunnyside, 

With glad friends all about; 
Where cordial welcome waits within 

And the "latch string" always out. 



10 



JUST A COMMA 

My heart feels lighter than it did an hour ago, 
The world looks brighter in this golden sunset glow, 
As I sit on the ground, in the twilight shade, 
On the grassy carpet Dame Nature made. 
Just the poising of the humming bird; 
Just the chatter of the cricket heard; 
Just the white clouds floating by 
'Neath a sky of deepest blue; 
Just the whippoorwill's far cry; 
Just the evening wind's low sough 
As they sweep the tree tops through. 
Yet I'm rested: — -glad and still; 
And my troubled spirits thrill 
With the rapture of the living, 
And my soul's triumphant filling 
With the beauty and the melody of the holy — 
"Peace! Be still!" 



11 



CALIFORNIA AND KANSAS 

I love the poinsettia and 

The sunflower's golden glow. 

I love the Kansas rolling plains, 

And wonderful, Old Mt. Lowe. 

Sometimes I feel I'd like to see 

The lightning's vivid flash, 

And to hear the thunder's distant roar, 

Then burst with an awful crash. 

Some times I have a longing 

That nothing will appease. 

To see the snow and glistening frost 

Sparkling in the trees. 

The blinding, whirling blizzard 

And the freezing, sleet wind blow. 

The vallej's leveled up to hills 

With the sifting, drifting snow. 

The rolling green prairies. 

With the blue sky arching over; 

Wild flowers and morning-glories, 

The plovers in the clover. 

The miles and miles of acres 

Of ripening wheat and corn; 

The whip-poor-will's call at sunset, 

The prairie-chickens in the morn. 

I love golden California, 

With her fruits and flowers galore; 

But — "My heart turns back to" — Kansas, 

I want to go there once more. 



SEEMING 

The earth seems ever just the same. 

It seems that we the changes bring, 

Forgetful of the noiseless swing 

Of the beautiful earth on her orbit plane, 

And the ceaseless whirl of time. 

Like a rhythmical symphony of rhyme. 

As one takes a backward look of the past, 

The distance is spanned from first to last 

With a web of facts, so beautifully spun, 

That one is not finished ere another's begun. 

And so the intricate web of years. 

Is woven thru with hopes and fears, 

With births and deaths, Vv'ith mirth and tears; 

So mixed and intermixed with all, 

The good, the bad, the sweet, the gall. 

That one cannot separate tares from wheat. 

Without uprooting some bygone sweet. 



13 



EXTRACT FROM AN OLD LETTER— 

Grandma Josie; Dear little Grandma! How deeply and 
sincerely I congratulate you, with that beautiful crown ot 
womanhood resting on you forever more. Grandma! 
This is the sunset glory to the day of life. May thia 
mellow, twilight gloaming, reach thru many, very many, 
of the unknown coming years, ere the Father shall say, 
"well done" — "Come up higher." 

How rapidly the 3^ears have made "a-man-of-a-family" of 
the little, blu.e-eyed "Willie boy," and a grandmother of 
his mother. I wonder if Ross has forgotten me except 
as a dear friend of his mother's. I wonder, because it is 
so human for one to wish to be remembered; so natural to 
like to be liked, love to be loved, hate to be hated or even 
forgotten. Yet, how many have we forgotten! So otheis 
forget us! I suppose, according to the law of recom- 
pense, which is all the time working itself out, while one 
is unconscious of the invisible mechanism, until some 
psychical point touches one, then one is sad or hurt or dis- 
appointed until some other unforseen sweep of old Time s 
scythe makes one glad for something. 

Night and day follow each other alternately; even so, the 
light and dark of the soul. The dark of life, is studded 
with the God stars of faith and hope and love; The 
light is light because of the light of God's all-lightness. 
When the dark, from earthly conditions and environments 
is starless, it is despair. But back of it, is the infinite 
silver lining of God's unchangeable eternal love, whether 
one recognizes it or not. 

Personally, Josie, I have tasted the darkness when ;+ 
was so dense that it was impenetrable. Again — I have 
seen the light so bright, that 1 could hardl}^ breathe, but 
only worship silently, with prayerful adoration. It is not 
all persons who swing to such heights of light, or down to 
such depths of darkness. I find there are many who, all 



their lives, are "just-lctting-the-old-cat-die." I suppose 
people are constituted according to the law of philosophy, 
that a pendulum will swing as far one way as the other, 
By the same law, it seems, to me just now, that the old 
pendulum is like "Grandfather's clock," and has "stopped 
short, never to go again," leaving me in the dark. But 
grandfather Time is never dead, and it's only a question 
of working and waiting, and I'll be on the hill tops again, 
reaching for the stars. 

Yet for so long I have been in the dark nearly all the 
time, a kind of blue blackness, which throws out the bril- 
liancy of the aforesaid stars witli a scintillating light as 
changeful and vascillating as the focused rays of a kalei- 
doscope. The completeness of all is in higher hands than 
ours. Ours is only to do the best one can, with what is, 
trust all the rest to Him, "who doeth all things well'.' That 
is the God light back of the sheeted blackness, with tiny 
holes cut thru, which makes a brilliant faith star. Some- 
times a trust or faith star peeps thru as big as the moon, 
and then the soft glints of glory that mellow life are like 
dews on roses. 

It seems to me that Old Father Time has slipped on his 
"seven-league boots" and is just straddling over the weeks 
with a speed that gives one no time to trim one's nails or 
get the pebbles out of one's shoes, to say nothing of 
letter writing and other like luxuries. But then he's a fine 
old fellow, this old man Time. If he brings one into a 
whirlpool of activities where one must struggle or go 
under, there are struggles to the limit, and then Time 
pulls one out again, and strides right along, with never a 
v/ait, push, pull or hindrance. 



IS 



HOMESICK THOUGHTS TO GO BACK EAST 

I'm thinking of loved ones "Back East" tonight, 

Their faces come one by one. 
Thru the misty gloaming of the soft twilight, 

They whisper — they smile — they are gone. 
Heart throbs follow thru the old time days, 

As thoughts guide the searchlight's glow; 
And each old scene thru memory seen, 

Melts away like springtime snow. 
The heart leaps over the stretch of miles 

As love leads the fancy on, 
And I stand on the threshold with outstretched hands, 

While they look — they smile — they are gone. 
These phantom things on thoug'nts' swift wings 

Bring food to one's hungry soul; 
They soften the sadness and mellow the gladness 

Like folk lore, told and retold. 
They flit in their fleeting with fairylike greeting, 

And the touch of a dreamland song, 
'Til I see loved faces in bygone places, 

Who whisper — who smile — who are gone. 



THOUGHTS OF ROY 

Wait — resting sweetly, in God's loving embrace. 

Loved ones come; loved ones go; 

But love flows on forever. 

Love glows bright; love burns low; 

But love itself, dies never. 

The cadence of a dear lost voice, 

Is always near, from memory's choice. 

Loving eyes look into mine; 

Loving hands my hands entwine. 

Good can't be lost, for God is good. 

Love can't be lost, or it never could 

Have come to earth 

And given birth 
To the limitless love divine. 

My loss, his gain. 

His peace, my pain. 
For love is still sublime. 

We can't recall 

The funeral pall 
But infinite love is over all. 

And thru the gloom 

Of the shadowy tomb 

The Father walks. 

In love He talks. 
Love is eternal; heart's loves remain. 
Through life supernal, loves meet again. 

As soiled, tired children, 

Come home at night. 
Sleep sweet, in garments clean and white; 

So — our weary loved ones, 

At close of life's race. 
Wait — resting sweetly, in God's loving embrace. 



17 



FRAGMENTS 

Love purifies and sanctifies 

'Til God's love looks from love-lit eyes. 

Love modifies and glorifies 

'Til thoughts are links 'twixt earth and skies. 

The only way to keep from wishing that things were 
different from what they are not, is just to accept the in- 
evitable and get busy with the evitable has-to-be, and DO. 
No time-space for useless wishing. 

Shake off the sad shadows of sadness, 
And dream the day dreams most dear, 
Glory and gloat in gay gladness, 
Forgetting all false, faithless fear. 

Literature and art, like music and character, are never 
completed. 

When virtue overcomes evil, it multiplies itself. When 
evil overcomes virtue, the resultant effect, to other and 
others, is washed to the shores of eternity. 

A little evil on a virtuous life, is very pronounced; 
Like smut on a clean, white dress. Some smut on a dark 
dress, is quite unnoticed. Both can be washed and 
cleansed and again be beautiful and pure. So, also, with 
Hfe. 

As the seed in the ground, is to the apple on the tree, 
so are thoughts to human achievements. 

As the acorn is to the tree, so is mankind to God: — in 
embryo. 

As a bucket of water dipped from the ocean, is to the 
ocean, so is the finite to the infinite. Same qualitj^, lack- 
ing quantity. 

As roots are to the tree, so is God to all creation. As 
the tree is to the branch, so is God to the Christ. As the 
branch is to leaf and blossom and fruit, so is the Christ to 
mankind. 



1R 



CHASING AN IDEAL. 

The blossoms of the brain aie ideals, 

Nurtured and propagated "mid soft 

Rains from the waters of life. They slip 

Into the mind's realm, silent, and feed 

The throbbing pulse of the real, as they 

Live and thrive in the hot-bed of soul. 

Tho years may roll, ideals change and grow 

And glow, according to elemental 

Soul conditions. Each makes one's own blooms. 

The tints, bright or dark, to fruition. 

As the longings and aspirations 

Of the soul shall be. * * * * 

What is the aim, thru labor and pain. 

Of life's ambitious strain? Is it gain? 

* * * Early and late, by plan 

Or fate, the restless, surging mass of 

Human love and hate, mingle and pass 

One point and then another. Still it is 

Unsatisfied, as it nears and grasps 

The coveted, hard-earned, ideal prize. 

With pulse athrob, — on the high crest which 

Had loomed up mountains high, when the mind's 

Eye first saw the beautiful vision, 

Beyond the vales and deep, dark gulHes 

Of fears, tears, sneers and hope-touched failures 

Thru the years of unrecognized merit; 

One now has all that one sought, and bought, 

(For one remembers, from the start, brain 

Or muscle or heart, paid some price for all.) 

One stands, at last free from the bands of 

The past, on this pinnacle of Fame. 

Surrounded with attraction of the 

Soul's satisfaction and harmonies 

Atune with its passionate success. 

One hugs its precious load, as one looks, 

Down the winding road by which one came; 

And with the exultant gladness, there's 

Mingled a sweet sadness, as one sees 



19 



Memorable points all thru the way; 

Helping hands; loving hearts; the moist eye 

With its last "good-bye"; Childish faces 

In many places; While the aged 

Face and silver hair were there to bless. 

Then, too, effect of unseen powers 

In weary hours of the march so slow, 

So trying to the patience, in that 

Start of long ago. * * * * 

* * Having gained the alluring. 

Long-sought object, is one satisfied? 

Ambitions all gratified, with these 

Tests? From further effort, rests? * * 

No! Having looked back over the track 

With a bird's eye view, one turns and looks 

Forward again, thru the dim, distant 

Blue, on and up, seeing point above 

Point more in advance of the now gained 

Prize than it of the primitive start. 

That which seemed great in the distance then, 

Now gained, seems small, compared to those which 

Beckon on. (Divine will-o-the-wisp!) 

By hope still led, how firm the tread, made 

Strong by all thru which it has passed, slow 

Or fast. One is now ready, anxious. 

To start again, and go on — up to — 

And thru all that lures and lies between 

One and the Castled ideals in the 

Dreamy, unknown distance. Still, always 

Trying to do one's best, (at the soul's 

Behest,) and trusting the rest to the 

Infinite God, who will recompense as 

The soul's work shall have been, in regard 

To talents entrusted and given, 

A birthright from God, which realized 

Egoism with breath, and ends not with 

Death, but, with the God-given spirit, 

(After leaving earth's clod with the sod,) 

Is swept on to eternity by 

Eternity's God. 



CALIFORNIA. 

California's face 

Is an ideal place, 
Where "home sweet home," rings true. 

Where the sun at last, 

Drops the day that is past 
From a sky-dome of azure and blue. 

The stars glint low 

On the flowers below; 
Out beauty all man made light. 

The full moon rolls 

In misty folds 
And silver slash shadows of night. 

The true hands of toil, 

Who have worked in the soil. 

Contentedly "rest on their oars." 
One listens in peace 
As night's stillness increase 

Borne in from the ocean-washed shores. 

'Tis a dear spot of land 

Where one meets the glad hand, 
Of friendship from friends who are true, 

While the moon and the stars 

Greet the sunset bars. 
I want to live there. Don't you? 

BY THE WAYSIDE. 

One of the beauties of reminiscence, is to pick up 
some little package laid on the mile posts thru the years. 

The beautiful j'csteryears! Full of many things, 
laughter and tears. Full to the brim, which we sipped 
from the rim, hardly thinking of fears 'til our lips touched 
the dregs of suffering sorrow; which filled the soul with 
fears of tomorrow. Time leaves us with only a gossamer 
veil of the has-been years, but faith-touched hopes, make 
our present today, as full of bright hours as those flown 
away. 



21 



THE BRIDE. 

(Listen to the Trust of her) 

Ever my heart sings a sweet, low tune, 

Like wind-blown leaves, by the zyphers of June; 

A melody tender and sweet and low, 

I love him so! I love him so! 

Ever my heart, my soul, my brain, 
Is filled with joy of a sweet refrain 
That thrills me and follows, wherever I go 
With touches of gladness: — I love him so! 

I love my love! My love loves me! 

And love is as deep as the deep blue sea, 

And as wide as all width and as high as the sky. 

And — I love him! Just love him! 

'Cause I do, that's why. 



THE GROOM. 

(Listen to the man of him) 

Mine! all mine! 
From the soles of the busy feet 
To the crown of silken hair. 
Mine to have and to hold 
And to love with protective care. 
To friends she will give a love, 
With fingers and lips for the time, 
But the innermost sanctuary 
Of her loving heart. 

Is mine! All mine! 



22 



FRAGMENTS— (Cont'd) 

We can live without 
Houses or horses or honey, 

In any event: 
But where is the one 
Who can live without money, 

Or its equivalent? 

Do not cramp or dwarf your best thoughts or highest 
ambitions. Plant them out in the open. An oak tree can 
not grow and develop in a flowerpot. 

Sometimes a failure, causes grief and disappointment, 
which are travail pains to another line or object that leads 
to a higher success. 

Opportunities are born every day, and die waiting for a 
greeting or nod of recognition, to develop into higher pos- 
sibilities. 

God docs not hold one accountable for failures, but for 
motives. The world often gives praise, where He con- 
demns. He often commends, while the world censures. 

No one can look at light that produces shadows, and 
see the shadows. Look at the God light in the soul and 
the shadows are behind. 

It takes more courage and bravery, to wait, to rightous- 
ly submit to the waiting than to face great danger. 

Happiness is dependent on the state of mind, and not 
on the possessions of material things. 

Uplift your thoughts, your ideas, your ideals. Purify 
and magnify your aspirations and you elevate your per- 
sonality. 



23 



FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN. 

I. 

Into Ellis Island harbor 
Whose portals forever swing wide, 
Comes a flood of mixed races, 
For new homes and new places, 
'Mid strange scenes and strange faces, 
Just over the sun-rise side 

Of the welcoming U. S. Gate. 

II- 

Into Ellis Island harbor 
Come childhood and youth and age; 
Men and women, girls and boys, 
Cats and dolls and dogs and toys. 
With a tongue of Babylonian noise. 
All shades of grief and expectant joys. 
Foolish and wise, priest and sage 
To the welcoming U. S. Gate. 

III. 

Drifting away from Ellis Island, 
Where the great, broad lands invite 
Each one and all, to hear the call 
Of the trees as they fall, 
To build the houses large or small, 
To shelter them day and night 

Out in the great Inter-Ocean. 

IV. 

This wonderful great Inter-Ocean! 
Stretching from shore to shore, 

While the gate still swings, with the "latch-string"out, 
With a tumult of laughter and song and shout; 
All things combine to invite still more 
To pass on to this great Inter-Ocean. 



24 



V. 

All over this great Inter-Ocean, 
The mountains and valleys and plains, 
Are dotted with homes, 
As if built by the gnomes. 

And electric lights twinkle when iire-fties shone; 
And millions of acres are fertile with grains, 
All over this great Inter-Ocean. 

VI. 

Beautiful Golden Gate! 
At the tnouth of the shimmering bay, 
Where splendors roll in, at sunset even. 
Like the tints of the seven-hued arch of heaven. 
Inviting rest, with a blessing given 
By the Father, as He closed the day 
Out over the Golden Gate. 

VII. 

Beautiful Golden Gate! 
Resting on restless waves; 

With their countless lost ones within and without, 
You kiss the waves that wash them about, 
And whisper requiems that come and go 
Down thru the grey fogs stooping low 
Over their unknown graves. 

Thou beautiful Golden Gate! 

VIII. 

Beautiful Golden Gate! 
America's good-night to the sun. 
O, the sad! The mad, glad glory 
Of the endless, boundless story! 
Of the ever and the never 
That is billowing on fotever 
In one restless, ceaseless run 

In the good-night. Golden Gate. 



25 



A WAIL FROM THE OLD BADGER STATE. 

O! for the nook of the ivy and rose, 
Where all out-doors is not freezing or froze. 
Thaw out this earth where snow banks are deep, 
And give me the fragrance of flowers in my sleep. 
I am so tired of iceicle fringe; 
Tired of "thawing out" ever3^thing. 
I am so weary of cold night and day; 
Take me to Berkeley and "stow me away. 

Turn on the rays of a torrid sun, 

'Til I'm warmed and heated and "cooked-well-done," 

For I am tired of frost bitten toes, 

And hands and ears and cheeks and nose. 

I am so tired of shaking in bed. 

It's worse than the quakes that Berkeley has had. 

I'd take all the earthquakes with thrills of delight 

To sleep in the lap of Berkeley tonight. 

I am so weary of leafless trees 

And frozen bread and blizzard breeze. 

Weary of seeing the wind blow the snow, 

With mercury still lowering at 40 below. 

I am so tired of hot bricks at night. 

Even old "Sol" looks sickly and white. 

So weary, I long back to Berkeley to creep, 

And forgetting "Old Boreas" just warm off to sleep. 

BE GLAD. 

Be glad of your opportunities to love and be loved: To 
live and help others to live. Be glad of the contact of 
humanity, and use it as a means to broaden and develop 
her attributes of the soul. Every movement has a mean- 
ing of its own, spiritual, mental and physical. Be glac! 
you have these powers within your own personality. Be 
glad of the dissatisfaction, that urges you on to greater 
endeavor. Be glad of the fear that makes you afraid to 
do the wrong. Be glad of the appreciation which nature 
craves and sends out, and cultivate it as flowers that de- 
velop fruit, whether you gather the fruit or others. Be 
glad to remember your friends, and forget that you have 
enemies, thereby making an appeal for their friendship. Be 
glad that the Christ is with you continually. Recognize 
Him ,and be glad of His guidance. His loving forgiveness. 
His infinite, elder brotherhood:— for, "Ye are heirs of God, 
joint heirs with Jesus Christ." Live close to this divine 
brotherhood, and Be Glad. 

26 



I MISS YOU. 

I miss you! yes, I miss you, 

Since the hour you left me alone. 

And tenderly thrilled, I kissed you 

In response to your low pleading tone. 

I feel 3'our kiss on my eyelids, 

My lips, my forehead, mj^ cheek; 

I feel your dear arms around me. 

And it seems I can hear you speak 

Those sweet, endearing wordings 

That spring from the soul's overflow. 

To bubble in rapturous heart beats 

And caress me wherever I go. 

I miss you! Yes, I miss you. 

The only one of my choice. 

I miss the echo of your steps 

And the ring of your cheery voice. 

I miss your face at the table 

And your step upon the stair, 

I miss you across in the greenwood. 

Yes, I miss you everywhere. 

I miss the' waiting — -the greeting — 

The come and go thru the day; 

The tender protective little things 

That you scattered along my way. 

A gassamer curtain of memories 

Unworded by tongue or pen, 

Divides exquisite realities 

From the Now, to that beautiful Then. 



27 



AUTUMN. 

The gold is on the falling leaf, 

The green, the red, the brown. 

Caressed and kissed by the passing breeze. 

They flutter and fall to the ground. 

Content to live, to grow, to be. 

Thru all the sunny summer. 

They now relinquish growth and life, 

And nestle down together 

As they quietly slip to the waiting lap 

Of dear old Mother Earth; 

And the infinite power that gives them death 

Is the same that gave them birth. 

New life behind the dying leaf. 

New pulsing force unseen: 

The gold, the brown, drop to the ground 

And aid in the new spring green. 



CALIFORNIA. 

How California's growing; 

Like a mammoth mushroom. 

On, no! not that! I take that back; 

A mushroom dies too soon. 

It's more like a nautilus chamber. 

Each change surpassing the last. 

Progressive California today. 

Surpasses all feats of the past. 

Beautiful California! Where ocean breezes blow; 

Where plow-boy and cow-boy and cattle herds 

Are replaced with the bungalow. 

I want to live in this sea-kissed land, 

Of flower scent, perfumed air; 

With snow capped peaks and fruitful plains. 

An Eden land, healthful and fair. 



28 



LEAD THOU ME ON. 

"Lead me to the rock that is higher than I." 

From mother earth to the vaulted sky, 

In some form ,some time, some way its own, 

All nature responds in look or tone. 

In all things created, above or beneath, 

From the roots in the ground to the highest leaf, 

Is the intuitive law to reach forth, reach high. 

And be led "to the rock that is higher than I." 

AIM! FIRE! 

Aim at some object that's worthy and true. 
Improve each hour as it comes to you. 
Finish complete what you start to do. 

Fire. 
Fling all your soul at the target you've set 
In faith of its worth, in love for its call. 
Reach to the stars for the good j'ou may get. 
Steadfast of purpose whatever befall. 

HEART FRAGRANCE. 

Thoughts of my darling come to me, 

When the sunset radiance glints the Golden Gate, 

And night spreads its blanket over the sea. 

In the gloaming silence I love and wait. 

Thru little whispers, sweet and low — 

Of plighted pledges, tender and true; 

And memory murmurs of sweet long ago. 

Are wafted on zepher wings, thoughts of you. 



29 



ACROSTIC. 

Love and Kindness and their kindred kind, 
Are the fal^rics in a Hfe worth living. 
Under and over and through all rnind 
Runs ever the Christly spirit divine, 
As a river forever giving. 

Kindness and love are threads of gold 
In the warp of the web of life. 
Night and day weave the threads alway, 
Casting the shuttle for the woof, like play^ 
Across the years untold. 

In color and pattern, and beauty and blend. 
Does the spirit of mind make its own, to the end. 

— Author. 



30 



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